


Oh, great, Christmas again

by RoughTweedAction (Donya)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:17:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8922118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donya/pseuds/RoughTweedAction
Summary: Four days to Christmas. Mycroft is already in agony.





	

Mycroft returned home after another busy day of googling pictures of cakes and playing Candy Crush with the Queen. Outside it was dreadfully cold and dark, just like his heart. Normally all that would put him in an excellent mood but the worst part of the year had just begun. The week before Christmas. The never-ending family gathering was coming, together with Mycroft's natural enemies- the noise, the people and brussel sprouts. There was only one way to momentarily forget about that horror ahead and unwind a bit.

Whisky and cigarettes were not enough in such circumstances. Mycroft had to resort to desperate measures. He opened a biscuit tin, removed biscuits and retrieved his secret stress relief remedy- cocktail umbrellas. In December, he required at least two for each drink. He picked two blue ones, put one in his tumbler and played with the other. That was comforting. Almost as much as the idea of the end of the world before 25th of December.  

He had plenty of ideas how to avoid stress during that particularly nerve-racking time. Plan A- tie Sherlock to a chair and gag him. Considering the last year's criminal holiday extravaganza, fully justified. Plan B- fake own death, return in January. Repeat annually. Plan C- again, a page out of Sherlock's book- drug everyone present and enjoy solitude. That might be problematic, the youngest guest was merely months old and too precious to be treated like that.

Mycroft hoped that Rosamund Watson would kindly provide enough distraction to stop Sherlock from acting like a spoilt brat. Despite her very young age, Rosamund's behaviour was far more acceptable her eternally immature uncle's. Mycroft found himself almost smiling at the memory of John's daughter. The last time he saw her, Rosamund was exploring Sherlock's flat on all fours, unaware of all the dangers she might encounter there. Mycroft paid no attention to the child and soon learnt not to underestimate even the tiniest goldfish. Rosamund sneaked up to him, gripped the umbrella he was holding and pulled herself up. Even Sherlock knew better than to touch Mycroft's beloved possession. Rosamund looked up, smiling mischievously, proud of herself. Mycroft was impressed.

He closed his eyes and thought of Sherlock's first Christmas, ruined when the boy decided to discover the taste of the Christmas tree and baubles. Piercing howls, furious destruction of decorations and food thrown on the floor became a new Christmas family tradition. With time, Sherlock's excuse changed, from the disillusionment over the non-existent Father Christmas to adolescent angst, then drugs and even more angst. And finally, the last year's festive murder. Mycroft could still hear the sound of his heart breaking when he watched his brother with his hands in the air and feared someone would shoot him down.

Christmas, the most magical time of year.

**Author's Note:**

> 'It's been Christmas day for at least a week now, how can it only be two o'clock? I am in agony.' Mycroft is so relatable, especially now.


End file.
